


pizza from here on out

by blueshirts



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:26:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueshirts/pseuds/blueshirts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky makes the mistake of falling for the impossibly hot pizza delivery guy.</p><p>edit: Added a second chapter!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was one of those summer days where the sky started out a hazy yellow and somehow transformed to bright, sterling blue in less than an hour. Bucky had his feet propped up on Sam’s coffee table, spared the scolding that Clint had received only moments ago by the commencement of the next match of Call of Duty.

Bucky was sitting the round out on Sam’s behest (”It’s not fun when you slaughter everyone within a minute, dude.”) and talking to Natasha. She was guarded, he thought, even more guarded than him. Only, she was better at concealing it. Her lip curled up in a way that made it feel like she was telling you something important, but when she spoke, you could tell she was holding back. Bucky didn’t mind that. He understood. Still, he found himself wishing he hadn’t been sequestered with Clint’s creepy-ass girlfriend. Her eyes bored into him in a way that made him fidget like nothing else.

When the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of their pizza delivery, Bucky shot up. 

“I’ll get it,” he shouted, then bolted from the den.

He flung open the front door seconds later, a bit winded by his haste, only to be faced with the hottest pizza delivery man he’d ever laid eyes on. He was tall, taller than Bucky by at least two inches. His shoulders were broad, straining at the customary navy blue polo all pizza delivery people wore. He blinked owlishly at Bucky with startlingly blue eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky said, breathless, forcing his eyes to focus on the poor guy’s face. It wasn’t his fault he was so goddamn attractive, after all.

“Hey,” Pizza Delivery Guy echoed, voice going up at the end of it, like it was more a question than a greeting, “Are you Sam Wilson?”

“Er, no. But I’ll take the pizzas anyway,” Bucky went to grab the boxes from Pizza Delivery Guy’s hands, only to be thwarted in his efforts as Pizza Delivery Guy smoothly lifted the boxes beyond Bucky’s reach.

Pizza Delivery Guy smiled an impossibly endearing smile, definitely more amused than confused now, and shook his head.

“I’ll need fifteen before you get the pies, pal.”

Bucky was so distracted by the slight accent with which he’d spoken that he didn’t process the words until far later than was socially acceptable. He cursed under his breath, and patted around his pockets in search of his wallet.

Suddenly, Natasha was there by his side, fingering the worn leather of his wallet.

“Looking for this?” She purred. He snatched it from her hand. He didn’t know her well, but he knew when she putting on a show. He shared an aggrieved look with Pizza Delivery Guy, only remembering that the poor guy had no idea what was happening when his look was met with a rather lost-sounding huff of laughter.

 _Oh God_ , Bucky thought as he rifled through his wallet.  _Hot Pizza Delivery Guy_   _laughs, too._

He handed over the requisite amount for the pizzas, adding in a hefty tip he probably couldn’t afford on his student income. Natasha got to the pizzas before him, whisking first the boxes from Pizza Delivery Guy’s hands and then herself from Bucky’s side.

Bucky froze. His eyes slid over to Pizza Delivery Guy, carefully unfolding and meticulously counting out the bills. He frowned down at them, then looked up at Bucky. Bucky’s heart just might have skipped a beat.

“Are you sure you meant to give me this much?” 

Bucky raised a brow, incredulous, “You want me to take some back?”

“I– I didn’t say that. I just..,” Pizza Delivery Guy faded out, his fingers still nervously twitching on the cash. Bucky smirked. Now he wasn’t the wrong-footed one. Oh, how the tables turn.

He pushed himself off the doorframe, ending up closer to Pizza Delivery Guy’s face than strictly necessary.

“You’re tellin’ me you haven’t been tipped more than this before? Maybe by desperate housewives or pre-teen babysitters with moony eyes?”

“I– what?” Pizza Delivery Guy may have seemed twitchy and nervous, but his gaze was trained steadily on Bucky. His eyes may have flicked from Bucky’s eyes to Bucky’s lips, to Bucky’s expressive hands, but they were always,  _always_  on Bucky.

Bucky grinned, pleased to see he was making an impression.

“Just keep the change, dude, you deserve it for putting up with me and my friends,” he then looked pointedly at Pizza Delivery Guy’s pizza delivery motorcycle– ignoring the way his mouth watered at the image of Pizza Delivery Guy with his thighs wrapped round the hulking metal– parked haphazardly in the street. “And, don’t you have somewhere to be, anyways?”

Pizza Delivery Delivery guy blinked those devastating baby blues. When he smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners, Bucky felt the sunny day dim in comparison. 

“Steve. And, yeah,” he nodded, in answer to Bucky’s question.

“Steve?” It was Bucky’s turn to be confused.

“Not dude. Steve,” Hot Pizza Delivery Guy– Steve– nimbly folded the bills and stuck them in his pocket. He strode away, leaving Bucky standing numbly there to watch the show. First, it was Steve’s ass in those too-tight khaki pants. Then, it was Steve swinging his leg over the motorcycle to straddle it. As he buckled his helmet, he turned to wave at Bucky, whose breath hitched embarrassingly. It was all he could do to wave back.

Steve’s cycle roared to life and he sped off, undoubtedly getting back to the grind.

Bucky stood in the doorway for a minute before coming to his senses. He closed the door and strode back into the den, where Clint was trying to force-feed a laughing Natasha pizza with ‘all the works’, and Sam was trying not to shout at them for getting grease all over his couch.

Their faces turned to him as he walked in. Clint looked like he was ready to get back to the pizza and was angry at Bucky for interrupting him, Sam had a questioning look on his face– wondering what could have taken so long–, and Natasha had a knowing glint in her eye that might’ve made Bucky bristle at any other time. But, he’d just got Steve’s name, goddamnit. Nothing was gonna break his stride.

He grabbed himself a slice and plunked himself down on Natasha’s other side.

“No more Chinese takeout, guys,” he decreed, helping himself to a bite and sighing because it tasted so goddamn  _good,_  “It’s pizza from here on out.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys seemed to want to a follow up, so here it is. Hope you enjoy!

Bucky wondered how long he should wait before ordering another pizza. As far as he knew, there were no customs surrounding it. But every single time he thought of Steve’s sweet, shy smile, of Steve riding his motorcycle, of Steve’s ass, it made the wait even harder.

It was a Thursday night when he finally worked up the nerve to call the pizza place, and it only took copious amounts of cheap vodka mixed with the glory that was Sam Wilson.

“Just call them already, Bucky,” Sam sighed, his fingers loosely curled around the neck of a bottle of beer.

“Yeah!” Clint chimed in, dropping his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, “ ‘m hungry.”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, and Clint fell to the floor. He landed with an indignant “Hey!”. Natasha snorted in the background.

“You guys didn’t see him!” Bucky said. Or, attempted to say. The amused look that appeared on Sam’s face told him he had been slurring. Bucky tried again, valiantly attempting to enunciate this time, “He was pretty. Natasha, tell them.”

Natasha, who had elegantly dropped down on the floor next to Clint’s prone body, stilled. Her hand, previously petting Clint’s sandy hair, ceased. She shrugged.

“Pretty isn’t the adjective I’d choose to describe men with pecs like Pizza Boy’s.”

She resumed petting Clint. He hummed, arching into her hand. God, Bucky’s friends were weird. Although, come to think of it, he wasn’t so normal himself.

“But his eyes! They were blue. So blue. The blue-est,” Bucky’s tone sounded desperate even to himself. But he had to make them understand. Steve was pretty.

“Oh my god,” Sam groaned. He scrubbed a hand over his face, deliberating, then sighed and jabbed a finger in Bucky’s direction, “Okay. You owe me for this.” 

And then, all the time it took in Bucky’s booze-addled mind was a long blink, and Sam was gone. He looked around in concern-- he couldn’t let Sam just disappear, after all-- and when his search turned up empty he called out Sam’s name.

Sam reappeared, not in his chair like Bucky had hoped he might, but in the doorway to the den. 

“Hey, sorry. What kind of pizza did y’all want?”

Bucky frowned. Natasha clapped excitedly. Clint, his voice muffled by shag carpet, requested “Sausage!”

Sam relayed Clint’s request into the phone, then paused. He glared at Bucky, then turned away, forgetting Bucky’s hearing was excellent, even when he was decidedly not sober.

“Can I request a specific delivery person?” Sam asked, and just as the meaning behind his words caught up with Bucky, he shot up, shouting,

“Sam, no!”

Sam turned back around, the look on his face remarkably like a dog’s who’d just been caught sneaking food from the table-- all wide eyed and adorable and ‘I did nothing wrong’. Bucky vaulted over the back of Sam’s couch, deftly avoiding the pile of Clint and Natasha on the floor, and ran to Sam’s side.

“Sam, don’t!”

“Too late,” Sam smirked, then frowned at something the person on the other end of the line was saying, “For real?... Alright, that makes sense.”

Bucky looked on with bated breath as Sam hung up. Sam pushed past him into the den, then flopped on the couch and popped the cap off a new cold one.

Not to be dissuaded, Bucky followed him.

“Well?” He prompted, when Sam took too long.

“Well, they don’t take requests for delivery people.”

“Good!” Bucky barked, trying to ignore the way his heart sunk-- he hadn’t even known how invested he was in this virtual stranger, but yeah, this was probably a good thing-- “That’d be way creepy.” he tacked on, mostly trying to convince himself.

Natasha hummed in agreement, and that was what made Bucky’s mind on the matter. She was the resident expert on creepy, and he’d do well to heed her word.

Several minutes passed in relative silence, Natasha’s hand slowly drifting lower and lower until finally ending up on Clint’s ass. She pinched, and was met with a yelp. Clint righted himself. He glared at Natasha, it’s effect only mostly diminished by the goofy in-love look on his face. Sam rolled his eyes for Bucky’s benefit, and pulled a stack of cards out from God Knows Where. 

“Cards Against Humanity, anyone?” 

Bucky had time to watch all of them win a round but him. He was about to voice his complaints about game-rigging and their obvious hang-up on not picking the funniest card, but then he heard a knock at the door. His cards scattered like so much debris as they fell from his hands.

“I got it,” he said, and was treated to a chorus of “We know”s.

Bucky huffed at his unhelpful friends (except Sam, gotta love Sam), and strode over to the door. He pulled it open, unduly disappointed when he had to look lower than he was expecting to meet the eyes of the Pizza Delivery Person. He was small. Not small, Bucky’s mind amended, just smaller than Steve. (An easy feat, if there was one.) He had black hair and a pathetic attempt at a goatee, but if Bucky hadn’t already seen human perfection incarnate dressed in pizza delivery garb, he might’ve called this new guy attractive.

“You’re not Steve.” Bucky said, frowning. 

“Uh, yeah. And I thank God every day for it,” but Goatee Guy smiled good-naturedly and Bucky could already tell he was gonna like him. What were they putting in the pizzas that made him so hopelessly unguarded?, he wondered.

Bucky smiled the crooked smile which made everyone who looked at it just a little bit randy, and was pleased to see that Goatee Guy was not immune. He flushed, but returned an equally intense smirk.

“How much for the pizzas?” Bucky asked, not feeling up to pursuing to slight interest further.

“Fifteen, and maybe a sizable tip for my troubles. But if I don’t get as much as Rogers, that’s fine, I totally understand.”

“What?” Bucky asked, confused. Then he thought back, to giving Steve that crazy-big tip. Rogers was Steve. Steve Rogers. Bucky filed that information away for later reference, and got back to the conversation at hand.

“He told you?” Bucky tried not to let his embarrassment show. He tried not to think about how undefined ‘you’ was in this instance-- Steve could’ve just told Goatee Guy, or he could’ve told the entire pizza shop. Why was a big tip something worthy of note, anyway? He shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

“Christ, kid,” Goatee Guy laughed, then pushed the boxes of pizzas at Bucky. Bucky took them, for lack of a better course of action. Bucky shifted the boxes to one hand, forking over the cash plus an actual normal-sized tip with the other.

Goatee Guy sighed at the size of the payment, and Bucky, rolling his eyes, added another couple dollars to the pile.

“Hey, thanks, dude,” Goatee Guy paused, then continued as if it pained him to do so, “I’m supposed to get your name, so, uh...”

He trailed off, and Bucky wondered if Steve had asked him to get Bucky’s name, or if there was some other, less hopeful, reasoning behind it.

“Bucky,” Bucky provided, “Bucky Barnes.”

“Alliteration. Nice,” Goatee Guy grinned a glittering smile which probably had all the pizza delivery recipients simpering at his feet, but Bucky remained unmoved.

Goatee Guy turned to leave, and Bucky was just about to do the same, perhaps going in to admit defeat and chalk this up to another failure in his list of lofty pursuits, when he heard Goatee Guy say his name.

“You know what, Bucky? I thought he was exaggerating when he described you, but I gotta say, he kinda sold you short.”

And then Goatee Guy was gone, and Bucky was bringing the precarious pile of boxes into the den to his overzealous, overinvested friends, and it took awhile for Bucky to realize that the ‘he’ Goatee Guy had been referring to was probably Steve, and that Steve had thought Bucky significant enough to warrant a description.

At this realization, Bucky smiled. It wasn’t a smirk or a lecherous grin. It was a smile. He was going to wrangle Steve the Hot Pizza Delivery Guy, and he was going to enjoy it.

\--

As it turned out, Bucky needn’t have called in for more pizza. All he had to do, it seemed, was go to the gym. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it earlier-- someone as massive as Steve was bound to spend a hefty amount of time working out. 

To be clear, (re)meeting to Hot Pizza Delivery Guy hadn’t even crossed Bucky’s mind when he’d gone to the gym. It just kinda turned out that way.

Bucky was reclined on a bench, straining to bench press a barbell (in his defense, he’d just added twenty pounds to what he’d normally lift) when someone spoke from behind him, almost causing him to drop the bar in his surprise. 

“You know, you shouldn’t be lifting weights like that without a spotter,” is what they’d said.

“Shit,” Bucky grunted, locking his arms, letting out a carefully measured exhalation and struggling to keep the bar from falling and crushing his rib cage.

“No, fuck, I’m sorry,” the same voice said, worried now. He felt hands brush against his own in their haste to grab onto the bar, hands that were strong and steady in contrast his own shaky grip. The hands aided him in lifting the barbell back to its resting place.

Once Bucky was out of immediate danger, he sat up and whipped around, all riled up and beyond ready to ream this guy for distracting him, when he saw it was none other than--

“Steve,” Bucky breathed. Steve’s features were distorted with concern and apprehension, and he was wearing a tight white tee and sweatpants instead of a polo and khakis, but it was undeniably him.

“Bucky, I’m so--,” and then Steve’s eyes widened, like he’d said something he hadn’t meant to. And, oh, Bucky realized with a jolt, Steve had asked Goatee Guy to get his name. Bucky grinned, his anger from only a few moments completely overrun with uncharacteristic, ridiculous giddiness. He leaned on the bar, propping his chin up on his hand.

“You’re a hard man to find, Steve Rogers.”

Steve laughed, scratching the back of his neck, still looking far sorrier than Bucky wanted him to be. If it were up to Bucky, Steve would stick to smiling that radiant smile all the time.

“Am I?” Steve sounded a little breathless, like he’d been the one almost crushed by a barbell, not Bucky.

Bucky laughed too, despite the sudden tightness in his chest telling him that maybe he was starting to become a little too fond of Steve.

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky opened his mouth, then shut it, all of a sudden feeling self conscious in a way he really didn’t welcome.

Steve, either not noticing Bucky’s trepidation or galvanized by it, leaned in. Bucky was sure his face went tomato-red at Steve’s sudden proximity. He hoped against hope Steve took it as some belated after effect of the workout.

“What do you say we shower, then go for for lunch?” Steve suggested, eyes crinkling at the corners as Bucky was slowly learning they were wont to do.

Bucky could only nod dumbly, mind caught up on the words ‘we’ and ‘shower’, even though he knew that wasn’t what Steve had meant by it. 

Steve straightened, that devilish grin still gracing his face, like he had absolutely no idea how devastating it was.

“You can pick where we go. I only have one rule: no pizza.”

No pizza? Bucky watched Steve walk away. It was a bittersweet moment. Bitter, because he couldn’t see Steve’s smile. Sweet, because those grau sweats highlighted Steve’s other assets perfectly. 

Bucky sighed a happy, satiated sigh. On second thought, he could live without pizza.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of want to write a sequel to this. Anyone interested?


End file.
